


Ice

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [9]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mild BDSM, Rimming, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 22:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shore-leave porn involving a little pain and the very inventive use of ice and vodka. Filthier than usual…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd - read at your own risk. 
> 
> Not mine, just borrowing them...they will be returned unharmed, happy and shagged out...

 

By the time Phil steps back to admire the rosy glow that Chris’s skin has acquired after half an hour of – albeit intermittent – attention from the soft suede flogger that he’s discarded on the end of the mattress, his hand is stiff, the muscles twitching and starting to cramp. He flexes his fingers, rolls his wrist to ease the tension and then reaches out to feel the heat coming off the broad back and smiles as Chris flinches and then leans back into the touch with a low moan.

“Good?”

“Mmmhmm…” His head dropped so far forward that his chin is resting on his chest, the sound Chris makes barely registers as a response, but Phil can hear the affirmation in it, the low growl of desire and approval that confirms Phil’s suspicion that they are both in serious need of this little interlude.

It’s been months since they’ve had the chance of more than a few hours of guaranteed privacy. Long patrols of the Klingon border interspersed with a few Starbase-confined leaves, always aware that they could be called out at anytime. But here, in this remote cabin in the winter-bound Sierras, there will be no interruptions, no Starfleet, no duty, for the next three days and Phil is determined to use the time to work out all the buried stresses of the last six months.

“So beautiful.” The sweat is tracking down the valley of Chris’s spine and Phil traces the line of it with one finger, following a rivulet that slides around the curve of his waist and over his hip, before he presses his mouth to the damp curls at the nape of Chris’s neck and sucks hard. He’s rewarded with a hiss of _pleasurepain_ as the spread of hair on his chest comes into contact with the tender seared skin of Chris’s back and he bites down a little deeper until Chris is squirming and bucking against him. The feel of pain-warmed skin is intoxicating and Phil presses closer, letting the hand that had been resting on Chris’s hip track over and down to curve around the slick, thick heat of his cock, gripping tightly enough to feel the thrum of his pulse, and suckling in time with it.

Finally, when Phil has Chris panting, almost sobbing, with need he relents and licks across the bruise, soothing it with a gentle suckle before he asks, keeping his voice low and soft, “Ready for more?”

“Fuck, yes.” Chris is breathless, twisting against Phil’s chest and tugging at the cords that have him bound to a low beam on the ceiling. The cool slick of pre-come coats Phil’s fingers and he grins at the thought of just how ready Chris is – and just how long he’s going to still have to wait – and uses an deft thumb to tease across the smooth-slick curve of his cockhead.

“Okay, I’m going to attach these…” Phil tugs on the cords, “…to the headboard. You just kneel there and do _exactly_ what you’re told.” And he strokes his hand one last time down the length of Chris’s cock, his own need sharp and sweet, as his hand dips between strong, tensed thighs and curves around the slippery silk of smooth-shaven skin. He leans in, unable to resist the urge to breathe across the back of Chris’s neck and whisper softly, “Fuck, you are such an unbelievably good boy.” before he sucks on the damp skin for a moment.

With a swipe of his tongue Phil eventually pulls himself away and sits back to release the ropes, shifting to the head of the bed to secure them around the slatted headboard. When he’s content with the security of the knots and the tension in the soft lengths of silk he sits back on the edge of the mattress and gives a single, low-voiced command.

“Get comfortable…you’re going to be here for a while.”

There’s a rumble of sound in response, one part slightly reluctant acquiescence to four parts aching need, as Chris apparently realizes that Phil is no where close to done with him yet. But he obeys with not a second of hesitation, his arms stretched out, leaning forward to rest his forehead on the bed and spreading his legs wide for stability.

For a long moment Phil keeps his distance, letting his heart rate settle and his breathing even out as he takes the time to appreciate how beautiful Chris is like this. Stretched out on the mattress, his back sheened with sweat, his ass a flushed curve of firm muscle, skin glowing in the subdued light of a banked fire, even at forty-five Chris is by far the most desirable thing Phil has ever seen. It has been twenty years since he first got to worship this body and all the years have done is hone it and shape it and make every curve and line and scar so familiar he could map Chris with his eyes closed.

“You are un-fucking-believably gorgeous.” Phil moves close enough that he can stroke a hand lightly across the smooth curve of Chris’s back, gratified at the way Chris simultaneously tries to arch into the touch, while he flinches at the burn of it.

In the mood to be generous, Phil reaches for the tumbler of well-iced citrus vodka that’s waiting on the end table and takes a taste before he takes one of the ice shards into his mouth and sucks on it until it’s gone. In a little while he’ll apply the ice directly to Chris’s skin, but right now that would be too much, too fast and he just leans in and licks a cold stripe over the deep pink skin stretched taut across Chris’s shoulders.

“Oh fuck…hnngghh…” Chris bucks in response, and Phil almost laughs at the incoherent confusion of syllables that follow the application of his tongue – bathed in ice again and again – as he makes cold, wet trails on Chris’s back. He has a very definite goal in mind, but he’s in no hurry to reach it, pausing to dip a finger in the glass of vodka and using it to write a couple of choice – rather filthy – Italian phrases on the broad, flat muscles that stretch either side of Chris’s spine.

Phil can feel Chris shivering as the alcohol burns against inflamed skin, the long, low moan rumbling out from between tightly gritted teeth, and he’s surprised when it’s followed up by an actual, coherent sentence.

“You…are a… fucking evil… _bastard_ …” it comes out in a couple of hitched-breath stutters as Chris pulls hard on the soft black cords and tries to twist away.

“Tell me this isn’t what you want.” Phil presses a hand firmly into the space between Chris’s shoulder blades, pining him to the mattress, waiting for the squirming to stop. He knows he’s no where close to the edge of Chris’s boundaries right now, the pain, the teasing, the icy touches, might be driving him mindless with need, but they aren’t anything he can’t handle, anything he doesn’t want.

“You know I do.” His head turned to the side; Chris rests his forehead in the crook of his elbow, trying to steady his breathing, as he pants softly, “That’s _why_ you‘re an fucking evil bastard.”

Phil laughs quietly as he dips two fingers into the vodka and slides them across Chris’s lower lip. They’re greeted with a hot, eager tongue and Chris pulls them into his mouth and sets up a rhythmic suction that makes Phil’s cock throb in sympathy. He shifts until he’s kneeling on the mattress next to Chris’s shoulders and then curls the fingers of his free hand into Chris’s hair and tugs hard until the blue eyes flick up to hold his gaze.

“How about you suck on something else for a while?” While Phil has no intention of letting Chris suck him off for long, his cock could use a little attention, just to stoke the fire that’s beginning to flare and curl in his belly and he grins at the sharp nip of teeth on his fingers and the pleasure-soaked indolence in Chris’s eyes.

The feel of Chris’s mouth on his cock is exquisite, slick and talented and oh, so fucking hot and after a moment Phil feeds him a sliver of ice and then lets out a groan that he can feel all the way to his toes as Chris holds the ice on his tongue and lets it melt along the length of Phil’s cock. His fingers tighten a little more in the thick silky curls and he uses the leverage to guide Chris’s strokes, holding him back just a fraction, knowing that if he doesn’t then this is going to be over before it’s barely begun.

Still, for a long minute he lets his head drop back on his shoulders and, eyes closed, he surfs the wave of sensation that ebbs and flows with the tight slick heat of Chris’s lips and tongue. A little longer and he could come, just like this, if he had a mind to, but that’s not his plan for tonight and with a groan, he bites his lip hard to distract from the pleasure and drags his head back up, skewering Chris with his gaze.

“You are such an incredible cock-sucker. _Jesus_ , Chris.” Phil growls out the last few words and sits back on his heels, tugging Chris’s head away, almost losing his resolve when Chris looks up at him, sly and seductive with just enough submission in his eyes to trip every one of Phil’s dominance triggers. The urge to go back to fucking that perfect mouth is almost overwhelming and Phil knows he’s being a little too rough as he pulls Chris’s head further back and then slides out from under the cords, standing on unsteady legs at the side of the bed.

Chris watches him through half-lidded eyes, the pale blue-grey shielded behind thick lashes, and teases his lower lip with his tongue. He’s deliberately taunting Phil, both of them aware that it’ll make Phil just that little bit rougher, that little bit less patient in his mission to make Chris whine and whimper and beg before either of them gets to come.

He lifts the glass of vodka, holding Chris’s gaze, only the slight lift of his eyebrow serving as a fleeting request for permission to go on.

“Do your worst.” Chris’s grin is languid and filthy and full of promise and he arches, cat-like, to show off the long, lean muscles under fire-lit skin and then shudders as Phil drips a line of alcohol down his spine, all the way from nape to the cleft of his ass. Phil knows it has to burn, just a little, but he waits for a long few seconds before he leans in to lick the skin clean in one long sweep, pausing to tease at the sensitive rim of Chris’s asshole. He’s rewarded with a low whine that he might have thought a protest if it wasn’t accompanied by the brief shuffle of Chris’s knees as he spreads his legs a little wider to give Phil better access.

“Wanton boy.” Phil grins and rests his cheek on the still warm curve of Chris’s ass for a second before he takes another generous sip of vodka and leans in to slides his alcohol-soaked tongue against the very center of the muscle, feeling it flex and give as he presses more firmly.

“Jesus, _fuck_.” The whine in Chris’s voice ratchets up a minor third and Phil uses just the tip of his tongue to tease the muscle further open before he takes another sip of his drink and slowly slicks a little of it inside.

The full body shudder from Chris as he’s breached by the mind-blowing combination of Phil’s hot, agile tongue and the 140 proof vodka makes Phil want to keep doing this again and again, but he knows better. He’s skirting the edge of responsible behaviour as it is with this particular game; only a few months ago he’d had to detox two of the Yorktown’s engineering maintenance techs when they’d been a little too creative with Cate Barry’s latest batch of moonshine; he has no desire to spend the rest of this evening dealing with a case of alcohol poisoning.

Still it’s tempting as Chris squirms back against him, clearly looking for more, and Phil relents with one last wickedly deep slide of his tongue before he sits back and wets his mouth again with the vodka, taking in another generous shard of ice. It takes him a few long seconds to suck the sharp edges from it, and as he waits, he strokes his hands down the long, sweat-damp curve of Chris’s back, feeling the rapid hammer of his heart and the shivering tension in his muscles. Chris is whispering, a low, fractured monologue that is too soft for Phil to make out anything but the occasional creative insult, and for just a moment he cards the fingers of one hand gently through curls gone dark, dirty-blond with sweat.

When Chris is a little calmer Phil strokes his hand back down the length of his spine and spits out the ice out into his palm, pausing for a moment, making Chris anticipate what he’s about to do and getting a muttered “Fucker…” in retaliation, before slowly tracing the smoothed ice-shard over the rise of Chris’s shoulders.

The ice melts faster than it should and Phil keeps having to replace it as he soothes every centimeter of Chris’s slowly cooling skin, all the way from the back of his neck to the back of his thighs. Pausing every so often to lick at the citrus-flavored vodka-water that is trickling slowly over Chris’s skin, Phil can feel his own impatience building, the intoxicating sound of Chris coming apart under his hands and mouth sending an aching, slow throb through his cock.

“Christ, you feel good.”

Chris is long past articulate speech and the sound he makes in response, a low-voiced, needy growl just ratchets Phil’s need up a little higher.

“You want me to fuck you, Chris?” He’s not expecting a verbal answer but the low whine and the long roll of Chris’s back as he arches in response are more than enough to convince Phil that it’s time to finish this. Still, he has one last tease in his repertoire before he puts both of them out of their misery and he fishes the last piece of ice out of the glass, again sucking the sharp edges off it, before he slides down the bed and spreads Chris’s ass wide with his hands, using his thumbs to hold him open as he slicks his tongue deep. And when Phil’s sure that he’s loosened the muscle enough, he slowly feeds the thick sliver of ice into the hot, tight vice of Chris’s ass.

The response is instant and immensely gratifying, a howl of anguished need and the feel of Chris tugging and twisting as he shudders at the totally unexpected sensation and while he’s struggling, Phil grabs the lube and slicks his fingers and pushes two deep and fast past the fluttering rings of muscle. Chris opens easily for him, and even as he wraps his other slippery hand around Chris’s cock and sets up a short, fast, tight stroke he curls his fingers, pressing down to massage the fleeting remnant of the ice against Chris’s prostate.

Chris comes so hard Phil thinks he’s going to pass out, his voiceless moan of release shuddering out in a low, broken exhale from deep in his chest. Phil keeps stroking until he feels the last weak twitches from Chris’s spent cock and he wraps his arm under Chris’s belly as he starts to collapse onto the bed.

“Not yet, not done with you yet.”

With a whimper, Chris shudders again and braces himself as Phil wraps both hands around the curve of his pelvis and, barely taking the time to line himself up, pushes deep, burying his full length in a single stroke.

“Oh, Jesus _yesssss…_ ” Phil fucks at an even, rapid pace, pushing himself closer and closer to the edge, until the sweet, tight heat of muscles that are still spasming with the aftershocks of Chris’s orgasm starts to overwhelm him and he knows he’s at the brink.

As good as it would feel to still his hips and just let go, come buried deep within Chris’s heat, Phil grits his teeth and pulls out at the last possible moment his hips jerking as he spends himself in a wide arc across Chris’s skin. It’s extraordinarily beautiful, the milky-white spatter of semen spread across the still slightly pain-rosy glow of Chris’s ass and back and the sight of it drags a few last weak spurts of come from Phil’s flagging cock. He shudders once, and then realizes that his legs are shaking too much to support him and, as he leans more of his weight on Chris, they both collapse in a semi-conscious, untidy sprawl across the bed.

“You planning to be that creative for the rest of the weekend?”

For at least ten minutes the room has been silent but for the crackle of the fire and the slowly settling whisper of their breathing and Phil starts at the sound of Chris’s voice.

At some point he’d rolled off Chris and now he pushes close, rubbing his head against Chris’s shoulder and groaning in content as a strong hand strokes into his hair. “Hmmm….dunno, a little bit of straightforward fucking probably wouldn’t go amiss at some point. Why? You got some ideas?”

“Hmmm…” Chris shifts and slides down so that they are face-to-face, “…I was just wondering if I’m going to get a chance to have you over the back of the couch.” He pauses for a slow, lazy kiss before he goes on. “Or in that fucking amazing shower.” His eyes are sleepy, but bright with laughter and Phil is amazed to feel the faintest curl of heat in his belly at the thought. There’s no way his body should be responding to the thought of sex yet, only Chris could do this to him, and he’s momentarily overwhelmed with a powerful wash of love. “Anything you want, darling boy, anything.”

_fin_


End file.
